Breaking Down
by InklingButterflies
Summary: I'm so deathly afraid of who will die next. Not because I think I will die, but because I don't want any more of my friends to die. I'm not at all worried about my life, there's no reason for such a useless fear. I am the killer after all. Rated T for potential gore, character death, suicidal ideation and language.
1. Prologue -- Of Pleasure and Pain

**Okay... So, first Fanfiction. I don't actually know ****_when _****I wrote this first bit, but I found it on my computer and I was like "I can work with this :D" I have no beta-reader, since when I was looking for one I pretty much had a mini panic attack and said Screw it. So if there are any errors, please do point them out so I can fix them! Warnings: Character death to the extreme, murder, potential gore, suicidal ideation, potentially extreme OOC characters, especially Italy, Gerita, implied Prucan, implied past one-sided Pruita, and um... Well, I'll tell you what, if I have any new warnings I'll put them somewhere c:**

**I don't own Hetalia!**

_Prologue  
Of pleasure and pain_

Dear Diary,

Recently a few nations have mysteriously turned up dead, none of them had much in common that could have spurred these cruel deeds. That doesn't really matter though, all that matters is that they are dead and gone. I'm so deathly afraid of who will die next. Not because I think I will die, but because I don't want any more of my friends to die. I'm not at all worried about my life, there's no reason for such a useless fear. I am the killer after all.

You'd wonder why I did it, but I'd only tell you I didn't. It wasn't me really, just some brand of evil speaking with my voice. It was however my fault that this evil is here. I embraced the icy shadows, invited them into me. I didn't understand what the darkness had meant when it had said it could help me to stop Romano from giving Germany a hard time. I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I didn't want people to die! I can't stop it now. The darkness lives in me whether I like it or not and it will stop at nothing to rid the world of anyone who had 'wronged' me. The darkness uses me and twists me. I don't want anyone more to die.

I hope that when this is all over, that there is a survivor of my wrath that will find this and kill me. I don't think that the darkness would let them though. Maybe by that point it will be gone, but I wouldn't dare count on it. I don't count on anything anymore. The only thing I ever dare hope for are the fleeting moments in which the darkness rests and I am no longer choked by it. When it is awake, _it_ is in control, not me. It speaks to me sometimes during these fleeting moments. It likes to tell me what it's going to do, but doesn't let me respond. Then it forces me into the very back of my mind where there is no more sight so I can't watch, but it always brings me back for the last breath. It wants to remind me that it's killing for my sake. I wish it wouldn't.

I'm not so sure how many I've killed so far. Not everyone that I've killed has been found yet. I don't even know if the ones I _know_ I've killed are the only ones I've killed. I've killed humans too. Any human that makes an off-handed comment about my country or I or anyone that means anything to me, the darkness uses it as an excuse. I often push these things out of my mind until I can no longer remember anything but the agony of watching them die. Everything has become blurry in my mind, especially the things I don't want to forget, like the feeling of Germany sleeping soundly beside me, or the taste of handmade pasta. I think that's how the darkness is making me repent for pushing the pain from my mind: If I want to get rid of pain, I must also lose pleasure.

Maybe it is better I forget the pleasurable things in life too; it makes it easier to let go of my stubborn will to live and find a way not to. I would hate for what I'm leaving behind to plague my mind when I finally do have to end it.

I have to sleep soon; I want to wake up early before the evil does. I just want a second in which I'm not observing and being choked or being shrugged off by the people I try to warn. I'm not sure however that I will, even if the evil sometimes likes to sleep in, I often can't wake up before it. I've always been bad at waking up before others.

~Italy Veneziano

**The story won't be in diary format, just the prologue c: Hope you enjoyed! I have several chapters lined up to be edited, so if there is any interest at all I can post chapter one fairly quickly! Suggestions are always welcome, so if you have an idea, and I haven't already come up with a contradicting one myself, I'll consider it. **


	2. All that I've done

_Chapter 1_

_All that I've done_

Italy blinked open his lovely brown eyes, almost surprised to find that his limbs weren't weighed down by the heavy presence of evil he had grown accustom to. He practically leapt out of bed in his excitement, but at the sudden movement, he felt the familiar stir within his mind. Of course it wasn't gone, it would never leave him. He sighed sadly and let his eyes slid into their normal position. He could see just fine, but it looked as if they were fully closed. Germany was already out of bed, but as promised the night before, he hadn't woken up the pasta-loving Italian for training. Italy had feigned feeling under the weather; going as far as to refuse pasta, refusing all food for that matter. He wasn't hungry anyway.

He knew his German friend was beginning to worry about him, but it was better that than Italy be forced into the outside world where he could hurt others. Luckily, Germany himself left for training every morning and was rarely around when the darkness awoke and all traces of his fake illness were gone like fog come morning's light. He had to hide it all from Germany, because he knew he would never take a word that came from Italy's mouth seriously; even in the serious situation the whole world had found itself in. He had once _tried_ to tell Germany, but the larger nation had only laughed at him. Italy didn't understand what was so funny.

Now he felt nothing short of terror at the thought of the darkness killing Germany. The presence in Italy claimed that they were one, in that it shared his enemies and would stop at nothing to rid the world of them. The ones he hated had to die. Those who did him wrong had to die. Usually the latter, because how could Italy hate anyone? As payment for the little 'favors' that Italy didn't want in the first place, the darkness used him as a host and used his body as a vessel. He knew that despite the evil that laced the heavy darkness, it would do all it could to keep Italy alive. He had at first not understood why the darkness had stopped him from killing himself on numerous occasions. Now however, Italy understood why it protected him so fiercely: without him it would be condemned to an early grave, Italy's early grave. This all added to his fear that the darkness would target Germany next, because he laughed at Italy, and made him cry. He had to die.

He felt the slightest stir of the presence in him and shuddered against it. Italy stood quickly, determined to get someone to listen to him before he went under again, however fleeting his chances were. Had it been anything else, he would have considered his brother, but his brother wasn't around anymore. The memory of his brother struggling under his confident hand as he held him under the water they had been about to boil to make pasta plagued him most nights. His brother had been his very first victim. Yes, Romano _had_ stopped giving Germany such a hard time, as promised. He would never give anyone a hard time ever again. In a twisted way the darkness hadn't lied so much after all. It all seemed so very long ago that a kind voice had asked of him a simple question.

_Do you want help?_

It had just been after a huge fight between Romano and himself, and unsurprisingly, the subject had yet again been Germany. It wasn't so much a fight as Romano just yelling at Italy, but it hurt as much as any fight. He had spoken to the harmless phantasm a few times before. It had seemed friendly enough at the time. The darkness' voice had grown cruel after Italy spoke the word that would change the world forever:

_Yes._

Not a day later he found himself unwillingly drowning his brother. He had begged the darkness to release its grip on Romano, and to allow himself control over his body again. He had wanted to make things right. He hadn't known how strong the presence was until then. He couldn't fight it, and so he had only been able to watch the blurred world in front of him as he held his brother's head in the pot until he struggled no more. Feeling him give up was more painful than feeling him fight.

Romano's death had come as a shock to everyone; no one had known nations could just up and die in a way that had nothing to do with politics, the military or their economy. Everyone had searched for Romano's murderer. No one ever suspected little Italy, who wept for the brother he had killed—No! He had to stop thinking like that! It was the darkness who was the murderer, not him... But he could never bring himself to think that way. He could only comprehend that he was a murderer, and that everyone would hate him if they knew.

Italy trembled at the memories and thoughts that raced through his head as he made his way down the stairs. He allowed his mind to wander again, trying to think about something more pleasant, when a familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts and into cruel reality,

"Italy..." The large nation that was standing in the kitchen started upon seeing Italy; it was obvious the German man was close to tears, or at least in a great deal of emotional turmoil.

Italy's breath caught in his throat, because he already knew "I thought you would be training." He didn't have to stretch far sound sick; the exhaustion he felt was no mask.

"I—" He broke off with a heavy sigh "Japan is dead, Italy. I found his body where we usually train."

Of course he was dead: he had called Italy weak the day before, just an off-handed comment, not meaning for Italy to take it seriously. Italy hadn't taken it seriously, not at all, but the darkness took everything seriously.

"No—" Italy choked on his words, feeling guilt and shame rush through him.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Italy... Whoever's been killing nations murdered him. Someone overpowered him, and strangled him to death. I don't think it's safe to train anymore, Italy. Japan was fairly strong; not just anyone could have taken him down"

Italy squeezed his eyes shut tighter than he usually did, trying to prevent the tears that threatened to form at corners of his gaze "I'm scared, Germany."

"I know, Italy, I am too, but no matter what I'll protect—" Germany started, taking a step towards his smaller friend.

"No!" Italy cried, voice trembling with emotion "I'm not scared for me! I'm scared for Germany!"

"For me?" He asked quizzically "Why? I can take care of myself."

Italy searched for the words to explain, desperate to make him understand while there was time "You have to listen to me, Germany!" He insisted.

"I'm listening..." He sighed, sounding almost slightly annoyed, like there was someplace he would have rather been.

"There's no where safe anymore, not as long as I'm—" He voice caught in his throat as he felt the darkness shift in response to his desperation.

_Nice try._ The demonic voice cackled in Italy's mind, announcing that it had woken up.

"What is it, Italy? Why is nothing safe?" Germany prompted, sounding a bit more interested.

"_No!"_ Italy forced the last word out of his mouth before everything blurred, and he became nothing more than an observer.

Italy heard himself clear his throat, opening his eyes wide to reveal two swirling brown pools of color "I have somewhere I have to go." He announced without explanation before turning to walk out.

"Wait! Italy, explain yourself this instant!" Germany demanded, reaching out to grasp the other nation by the shoulder.

Italy easily shook Germany's firm grasp off, making the German stiffen in surprise. Then the pasta-loving nation simply left, a smile that bordered on cruel dancing on his lips and malice living in his eyes. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off any protest that Germany might have had.

_Austria was quite cruel to you when you were younger, if I remember correctly... And Hungary dressed you in the clothes of a girl, did she not?_

It was technically true, but it was a twisted truth, worded to make everything seem much worse than it was. Italy couldn't have argued to save their lives either way, the evil never let Italy get a word in.

_Yes, I knew you would agree. I think they shall be next!_

Being unable to protest was agonizing.

**I don't own Hetalia!**

**Next chapter was the funnest to write, not sure how it will read, but hopefully with some editing I can have it up soon^^ Thanks for reading!**


	3. Blood red roses and Piano keys

**This chapter was a lot of fun to write c: It wasn't as much fun to edit xP **

_Chapter 2  
Blood red roses and piano keys_

Italy knocked on the door, stretching his fingers in an attempt to chase the weariness from them. It didn't take long for a kind face to answer. Hungary smiled brightly, though the dark and fearful undertones were oh so visible,

"I wasn't expecting to see you out and about, Italy!" She said in a half-hearted cheerful tone as she ushered him in "I mean, you have heard about Japan, haven't you?"

"I have." He said in an emotionless tone, relishing in the shiver his cold voice sent down Hungary's spine.

"O-oh." She stuttered, unsure of how to respond "Can I get you something to drink?" She asked as she invited Italy to sit down.

"Water would be nice." He smiled slightly, waiting for her to leave; he needed only a moment to escape and find a way to make them all pay.

"I'll get you a glass." She told him "Just wait right here and make yourself at home" She jumped at the chance to leave, as if she knew that there was something up with the young Italian.

He waited until she was out of sight to stand. He knew his way around the house by searching the memories associated with this host body. It wasn't hard to find the piano room, though he doubted he would have had any trouble without previous experience in the house; the sound of the piano gave it away. However, before he could open the door that led into the room, he caught sight of the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and much to his surprise he saw a flash of blue as a certain perverted country tried to make his escape. He had only been planning to kill two birds with his stone, but why not make it three?

He quietly followed France, unable to keep the smirk off his face at the thought of making the French country pay for his wandering hands. He closed his eyes to look like normal and reached out just as France was about to climb out the window, his hand clasping down on the blond nation's shoulder and yanking him back.

"Ah! I swear I was not watching you, Austria!" He turned around to face his captor, his expression relaxing when he saw it was only Italy "Oh, _mon petit Italie! _You gave me such a fright!" He flipped his hair dramatically, studying the bright red rose he held in one hand.

"Ve, if I gave you such a fright, then perhaps you should run: your first instinct is often your best." Italy told him blandly.

"_Quoi? _You are speaking non-sense, _Italie_!" He laughed nervously, toying with the rose's petals.

"Am I really?" Italy questioned innocently, snatching the rose from France.

"Hey! Give that back, _Italie_!" He ordered, reaching for the rose.

Italy slapped his hand away "Should have run while you had the chance."

He barely had time to utter a word of protest before Italy was pinning him against a wall and shoving the rose down his throat with a hand stronger than he had thought Italy capable of. He tried to cry for help, but Italy forced the rose deep into his throat, blocking off his air and preventing him from uttering anything but choked cries, not quite loud enough over the piano to bring help. A thorn that he had neglected to removed dug into his throat, causing him to cough up blood around Italy's hand. His face began to turn blue, and all sorts of lovely shades of purple as blood bubbled at his mouth. Italy couldn't but compare it to the rose that was now being used against France.

Italy watched it all with a sick delight, relishing in the feeling of the Frenchman's life draining ever so slowly. All fun however, eventually comes to an end, and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall brought Italy's amusement to a halt. Hungary must have gotten the water for Italy, and upon seeing his absence had gone to look for him.

Italy let go of France, letting the unconscious man slump to the ground with the rose still shoved down his throat, stopping him from pulling in the air he desperately needed. He wiped the blood from his hands on France's clothes and smiled sadistically as he shoved the body around the corner of the hall and out of sight. He closed one hand over the other, hiding the last of the blood from prying eyes. He turned just as Hungary entered the hall, holding her frying pan at the ready.

"Ve~" Italy cried and bounded up to her—there no use stirring anymore suspicion in her by acting emotionless. "I came here to talk to Austria and I thought I could find him on my own! I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me!"

Hungary felt a soft smile grace her features, glad to hear Italy acting like normal "That's quite alright, Italy, Austria is just through that door." She paused "Oh, and were you just talking to someone? I could have sworn I heard voices..."

"Oh! That was just big brother France!" He told her with an innocent smile.

"France?" She questioned, gripping the frying pan tighter, obviously thinking about the recent murders. If only she knew "What was he doing here?"

Italy shrugged "He went that way if you want to ask him yourself..." He motioned around the corner, where he had left the dying man, who was by this point surely dead or close to it.

Hungary nodded "I think I will do that, go ahead and talk to Austria. I'll just be a moment." She cautiously crept around Italy to where he had pointed, lifting her frying pan slightly.

He waited for a moment until she was directly behind him, pulling a huge butcher's knife out of his uniform. He allowed a smile to play on his lips and just as Hungary caught sight of France, he stabbed it into her back, driving it straight through her heart and out the other side. The knife cut her scream short with a gurgle, barely letting the sound escape before she fell limp to the ground beside France. The cast-iron pan hit the floor beside France with a muted thud.

Italy couldn't help the cruel laughter that bubbled at his lips as he left the two corpses to work on the last goal of this little stop: Austria. He had unknowingly been playing very fitting music throughout Italy's visit. Italy gently opened the door, not yet earning the piano-inclined nation's attention. He closed it behind him quietly before approaching Austria.

"Mr. Austria?" He asked innocently, his voice soft and nervous.

Austria pulled his hands away from keys and turned to look at the small nation "Hello there, Italy, I wasn't expecting you."

"No." Italy agreed "You probably weren't expecting to die today either."

"Die?" Austria echoed, confusion settling on his face "What do you mean?"

"Oh, so you didn't hear any of the delightful screams over your piano! That's too bad, they were really quite lovely." Italy giggled.

"Screams?" Austria demanded, his voice tilting upwards with distress "What are you talking about, Italy?"

"Nothing much, only that I just killed France and Hungary" Italy told him, sounding bored and indifferent.

"K-killed them?" He stuttered and paled to look as white as his piano keys "No... You're not the murderer, you're too—"

Italy cut him off "Innocent? Yeah, Italy is pretty innocent." Austria looked confused, and maybe even startled at his use of third-person, so he continued "You see, I'm not exactly Italy, I'm just borrowing his body long-term." He explained "Don't worry yourself over the details." His hand snaked out faster than Austria could avoid it, wrapping around his throat and lifting him off the bench.

Austria struggled in the air, shocked by the strength Italy was showing. He reached up to tear Italy's hand off his neck to restore the airflow to his lungs, but found Italy's hand locked impossibly tight around his throat.

"I-Italy!" He managed to choke out with the last of his air "Don't do this!"

"Trying to appeal to my sense of mercy?" Italy laughed, his lips twitching into a smile "It's too bad I have none" He slammed Austria down into the top of the grand piano, cracking the wood and a few of Austria's bones, along with snapping almost every string in the piano much to Austria's horror. He let go, smiling at the red marks left on Austria's neck "Hm." He mused "Such a shame that I'm going to have to ruin this piano to kill you. It's a lovely instrument."

Austria writhed in agony, but every movement only made the jagged edges dig deeper into his broken body "W-why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't break my promises." He brought the lid down hard over Austria, smiling darkly as he felt the sharp crack of bones and the tear of flesh under the wooden lid as blood seeped and leaked from the cracks.

He searched the lid for a lock of some sort, feeling Austria still struggling beneath it, pressed against the now splintered wood of the piano. He found something he assumed was a lock and clicked it shut, leaving Austria to writhe in his own blood against the snapped strings and broken wood until unconsciousness overcame him, and let him drift to death in the embrace of his beloved piano.

Italy smiled at the scene, touching his finger briefly to the blood and brushing it against his lips. He turned and left, barely throwing a second glance at the ruined and bloody piano, or the two bodies in the hall, one of which now had a bloodied hand and a rose dripping with the dark substance in his lap. At the sight there was the slightest stir in Italy's mind, some feeble force flinching and struggling against an unmovable wall.

**I don't own Hetalia! Let me know how you like it so far, and feel free to leave me suggestions or point out my mistakes. I don't bite!**


	4. We'll kill them all

**I don't have anything interesting to say ._. Um... Enjoy?  
I don't own Hetalia!**

_Chapter 3  
We'll kill them all_

Exhaustion had forced the darkness to relinquish its grip on Italy. It was better that it was always as strong as it could be so that it had no trouble killing when the time came. Italy was truly thankful that it preferred to rest at certain points of the day; it let Italy rest too. Unfortunately however, rest wasn't the same as sleep in the case of the darkness. It was fully aware that Italy might try something rash if left alone, so it remained dimly aware of what Italy was doing.

Currently, Italy was sitting in the bathroom on the cool tile floor. And as usual he was doing something stupid and impulsive, and the darkness was having none of it. Italy had retrieved a knife from the kitchen behind Germany's back. The darkness hadn't protested to this, it only kept Italy from letting the cool metal touch his delicate skin. Each time he would bring the knife down on his wrist, the darkness would force him to drop the knife, or snap his hand away from his wrist. It was a full-time job, trying to keep Italy alive.

Inhabiting a dead body was not as nice as controlling a young lively one such as Italy. Not even the darkness could keep a body from rotting and smelling. It was always an ordeal. Plus, if Italy died and the darkness had no one to escape into, he would be trapped in Italy's grave with him. Again, not fun.

Italy knew the darkness wanted him alive, but something in him begged him to find a way to end it before he killed again. Before he killed someone even closer to him; Germany. He had already let it kill his brother, and he refused to let Germany fall to the same fate at Italy's hand. It was highly unfortunate that the darkness wouldn't let him just die already. But secretly, he was almost thankful for the way it stopped him before he could do anything: despite whatever Italy said, he didn't really want to die. He was afraid of the pain he'd seen his victims in before their deaths. He hated their screams as much as the presence loved them.

Italy shuddered slightly as the darkness shifted within him, as if trying to settle. He stood and left the bathroom, leaving the unsoiled knife on the bathroom counter. He carefully descended the stairs, feeling the darkness relax inside him now that he was out of harm's way. Italy sighed inwardly upon seeing Germany, still sitting in the kitchen with the same stoic expression as when Italy had burst into the house and disappeared up the stairs without explanation.

"_C-ciao_, Germany..." Italy greeted him nervously, silently damning the stutter that betrayed his nervous state.

"Italy." Germany returned the greeting politely, but his voice shook slightly; fear, worry? Italy couldn't place it "Would you care to explain something to me?"

"S-sure..." Italy tried to plaster his usual smile on his face, but instead he found himself trembling ever so slightly.

"I just got a phone call." Germany began, shifting uncomfortably.

"_Si, and_?" Italy prompted.

"It was from France." Germany told him plainly, causing Italy to stiffen noticeably.

Italy opened his mouth to say something, but the words to make Germany understand died on his tongue and all that came out was a weak "_Si_"

"He said..." Germany began, his voice faltering halfway through what he was trying to say "He just said your name, and then said kill. I'm truly worried for you..."

Italy's shoulders slumped with relief. France hadn't told Germany anything. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Italy had lost sight of the difference "Was he cut off?" He questioned innocently, trying to put fear rather than guilt in his voice "I hope big brother France is alright..."

"I hope so too," He agreed quickly, brushing off the worry. Italy somehow felt he didn't really care about France "But is there any way you could explain why he said your name?" Germany asked.

"I'm not sure." He lied softly, unsure of why France hadn't ratted him out "Ve... You don't think that... the murderer got him, do you?"

"I don't know. As much as I hated to do it, I called England to see if he knew where France was, but he didn't seem to have any idea" Germany explained to his Italian friend.

Italy's vision blurred with unshed tears, more out of guilt than any form of sorrow. He trembled violently, then collapsed into Germany's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Italy had barely shown any sort of emotion towards the murders before except for a painful, distant demeanor, which Germany had assumed was shock. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around his friend, trying to soothe him even if the task was impossible.

"Ve! Germany!" Italy sobbed "You have to help me!" He looked up at his friend, his eyes open and tear-filled.

Germany wasn't sure what to say, so he ran his fingers through his friend's hair "Shh. It's okay, Italy. I'm here for you. I'll do whatever I can for you."

Italy felt the darkness stirring inside him, ready to act. It was hard to bring himself to care "Then do the world a favor and kill—" Italy felt an invisible force clamp a hand over his mouth, and all Italy could do was stare pleadingly up at his German friend.

"Kill? Kill who, Italy? Do you know who's been killing nations?" He demanded, trying to keep his voice calm for the sake of his friend.

Italy wished he could nod his head, but the darkness kept a firm clamp around his neck and mouth, keeping him from making the slightest movement or the smallest noise. Italy could do nothing but hope Germany understood. Of course that was too much to hope for.

"Italy?" He questioned softly.

"No." Italy heard himself say "I'm just scared..." Italy shuddered at his own voice, because it wasn't his when the darkness used it; the darkness made it sound cold and indifferent. The presence made everything as dark as itself.

"We're all scared, Italy." Germany comforted his friend before taking a step back "Go clean yourself up, I'm going to call England and see if he had any luck finding France."

Italy nodded and hesitantly headed back up the stairs, feeling the force that kept his mouth shut and his body frozen lifting and giving him control over himself again. He slipped into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, listening to Germany downstairs. England must have been practically screaming into the phone because Italy could hear him from all the way upstairs. He had surely have found them, or someone else must have. Either way everyone knew they were dead now. Three more names to add to the victim list. And it wasn't like it was stopping anytime soon either. Italy couldn't help but feel that he might soon be alone, and it scared him more than anything else. Even more than losing Germany.

He gently closed the door, quieting the frantic voices from downstairs and letting silence rush in to fill the air. He stared at the mirror blankly and reached out a hand to touch the hollow reflection in front of him, barely recognizing himself under the unnaturally pale skin that clung to his bones, bringing his malnutrition to center stage. His reflection smiled dully back at him, as if mocking him. He flinched back with a hoarse cry, throwing a fist towards the reflective surface in fear, and sending a spiderweb of cracks through the mirror in a shower of light as shards fell and broke into thousands of smaller pieces where his fist made contact with the shiny surface.

Much to his satisfaction the presence flinched inside him, as if it hadn't been expecting him to try anything. Perhaps he had moved too unpredictably for it to stop him. The thought brought him some form of comfort; that he could do things without it stopping him... was somehow nice. He heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards the door and sighed as he plucked a shard of glass from his bloodied hand. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and opened the door a crack to see a startled Germany hurrying towards the door.

"Italy!" He sounded relieved "What happened, are you hurt?" Upon spotting Italy's hand he snatched it away from him "Your hand!" Italy was in more pain over Germany's worried tone than his hand. He had no idea...

Italy calmly tugged his hand out of Germany's grasp "Ve~ I accidentally broke the mirror." It wasn't a full lie at least.

Germany frowned "You..._accidentally_...broke a mirror...with your _fist_?" He asked skeptically.

"_Si_!" Italy confirmed.

"Hm, well let's get you bandaged up." Germany grabbed his shoulder and forced him back into the bathroom to fix up his hand. Germany tried to ignore the bloody mess left by the mirror breaking and focused on fixing up Italy "There we go, be more careful, _ja_?" The german's searching gaze didn't miss the knife on the counter, and he made a mental note of it.

"_Si..." _Italy agreed reluctantly.

"Good, now go rest or something, you look horrible..." Germany grumbled, glancing around in a shifty manner.

"Doistu, are you hiding something from me?" Italy half-asked, half-accused, yet it wasn't a question, because Italy knew exactly what he was hiding.

Germany heaved a sigh "I thought you might notice...I-I don't know how to tell you this... It's—there's been another murder..."

Italy trembled slightly, because he already knew the three names that he would say with a heavy heart "Who?"

"Austria and Hungary." Germany told him gently, and his voice was so sad and hollow and-

-Not France? Italy stiffened and barely kept himself from flinching or swearing "Did England find France?" He asked in a dull and hopeless voice "I hope he's okay... I don't think I could stand him being dead too..."

"England was checking everywhere for him; when he got no answer at Austria's house he went ahead and let himself in. You can piece together what happened next..." Germany's voice was catching in his throat, making his pain and mourning obvious.

Could that mean that France was still alive after all? The thought sent both fear and hope surging through Italy, but mostly fear. Before he could speak again, Germany continued "We think that it was France." He told Italy suddenly "Because England did find a bloody rose next to Hungary, we don't know what could have caused this. I'm scared he might come after you next, Italy..." He was talking more to himself than Italy by this point.

"No! You're wrong!" Italy cut him off with a sob, surprised at his own fierceness "He isn't the killer!"

"What makes you so sure, Italy?" He asked, carefully phrasing the question. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Italy further.

"Because I'm—" The invisible hand clamped down over his mouth again. He smiled sadly at his German friend, as if asking for forgiveness before he pushed past him, unwilling to let himself be near his friend when the darkness came out to play "Because I just know..." He said quietly to himself, the faintest echo of a smile pulling at his lips.

"Wait! Italy! _Italia!_" Germany tried to catch him before he slipped out the door. It was in vain as it always was.

_Remember the man we met yesterday that didn't recognize you? Of course you do. Let him be next, along with the rest who didn't recognize you. We'll kill them all._

The more the darkness used the words _us_ and _we_, the more Italy believed it. Was it really worth fighting in the end?

**Editing this chapter was very tedious, so if I missed something, or a sentence is really awkward, please feel free to point it out! I could use the help c: No beta-reader yet. Suggestions and ideas are always welcome! **


	5. Scream for me

**Sorry it's been a while since I've posted a new chapter, life takes up time. Also I'm allergic to editing xc As always please feel free to point out any errors and leave your opinion! **

_Chapter 4  
Scream for me_

_"...A mysterious killing spree in a small café in Venice, Italy leaves two dozen dead including all the staff working at the popular meeting place. There were no survivors to this tragic event and police are still without leads...In other news there will be an early cold snap this year..."_

The TV droned on with the evening news, but Germany could barely stand to listen to it. Italy had disappeared from the house a few days ago, and had yet to return. The small Italian hadn't left and stayed away from Germany's house for more than a day since Romano died. Germany had assumed that he didn't want the memories associated with his house anymore. It was Understandable. Germany was starting to get extremely worried about the smaller nation, but he tried to push it out of his mind. Of course the TV made that impossible. Every channel he flipped to was either trash or covering the recent shooting in Venice. Germany found himself scared that there was a chance that Italy was in that café. He wouldn't have been so worried before the murders, since he, like the rest of the nations, had thought that countries couldn't just die at any moment.

The killings had proven that even as a country you didn't need war or an economic crisis to die. It led Germany to wonder if the dead humans had been collateral damage from trying to get Italy. It also led Germany to wonder if he should go looking for his pasta-loving friend. He let a soft sigh escape between his lips, standing up and heading towards the door. At the same moment the door was flung open and the very person Germany had been worried for flew into the house. His face was tear-streaked, his eyes wide open and blood-shot. He flung himself into Germany's arms before the German even had the time to process that his friend's entering.

"I-Italy! I was worried about you" Germany stuttered as he awkwardly patted his sobbing friend on the head. What was one supposed to say when a friend burst into their house crying?

Italy shuddered and clung to Germany, a fearful whimper escaping his parched lips "I saw something terrible happen, Germany" His voice was painfully afraid.

Germany's icy eyes softened, his hand still lingering over his friend's hair "What happened? What did you see?" He felt almost bad for thinking it, but he was really hoping Italy had some relevant information.

"I saw all those people get killed in Venice, but I couldn't do anything!" He buried his face in Germany's chest again.

The faintest blush dusted Germany's face at the physical contact "Did you see who did it, Italy? You have to step forwards as a witness if you did."

Italy clung to him and sobbed, as if what Germany said made things worse "N—no!"

"Italy, was it someone you know? It isn't right to protect a murderer!" Germany told him firmly "Whether they're your friend or not—"

"No! No; I didn't see them! Because—" Italy broke off suddenly, looking panicked. It always seemed that when Italy was about to say something important, he would break off. It was starting to get irritating.

"Italy, you must stop breaking off like that!" He scolded his friend "Finish what you were going to say." Italy gave the slightest shake of his head. Germany couldn't help but feel he was trying to get some across to him, but it made the whole situation no less aggravating.

Italy took a step back, looking up at Germany apologetically before turning towards the stairs to leave "I'm sorry, Germany..."

"No, wait, don't leave!" Germany protested a second too late as Italy disappeared up the stairs "I don't understand that man..." He growled under his breath. He'd check on Italy later, when the smaller nation had calmed down.

Germany headed into the kitchen to get a beer or something when a knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. He hesitated, wondering who could be at the door at this late hour. What if it was someone who wanted to hurt Italy? What if he had been _running_ from someone?

"Hey, _bruder_! Open up and let the awesome me in! Why's the door locked anyways?" A familiar cocky voice sounded from behind the thick oak.

Relief flooded him "_Ja, Ja, _I'm coming..." Germany sighed as he headed over to open the door.

Prussia wasted no time in making himself at home; He yawned and plopped down on the couch "Did ya hear about Austria and Hungary? Real shame, huh? I mean, they were both good in—"

Germany cut him off before he could get lost in a vulgar story about one of them and a bed. They were both _dead _and still Prussia was looking for a chance to joke about them. Perhaps it was his way of coping "What are you doing here, _bruder_?"

"Chill, west!" Prussia laughed, throwing back his head "I just came to make sure you and Ita-chan were alright!"

Germany frowned at the nickname for Italy; he had never perfectly been comfortable with the familiarity Prussia expressed with Italy "Well we're fine... You can go out drinking with your friends or whatever it is you do with your time." By the smell he had already been out drinking...

"So eager to get rid of the awesome me, West?" Prussia asked, raising an eyebrow "I was thinking I'd crash here for a bit!"

Germany hesitated "I suppose it wouldn't hurt..." He agreed carefully "And I do have some errands to run... Maybe you could just keep an eye on Italy briefly..." Even if his brother was a bit tipsy he surely couldn't mess up keeping an eye on Italy, right? And Germany did have a lot of errands he had ignored out of worry for Italy.

"Consider it done, _bruder_! The awesome me will keep a close watch on Italy!" He proclaimed, raising his voice louder than necessary.

"Good... Just try not to bug him much. He's been a bit off lately..." Germany instructed him, mostly out of paranoia that his brother might try something.

"Yeah, yeah! Whatever, West! I've got it covered." Prussia confirmed.

Germany hesitated again "And, uh, don't drink all my beer." He wasn't sure what else to say, so he slipped out the door without another word, his inner workaholic taking hold.

Prussia stretched and stood up "Kesesese, he's so paranoid! Like I'd actually kill, Italy!" He chuckled to himself "I might as well check on him though..."

Prussia trotted up the stairs and towards the guest room, not surprised to find it empty and dark when he swung the door open. He took a step inside, just to make sure he wasn't missing a dead body lying on the other side of the bed. The door slammed shut behind him, causing him to jump. He glanced uneasily at the open window and then over his shoulder. What he saw was definitely the last thing he expected; Italy stood leaning against the door, his hair ruffled and untidy. The dim, gossamer light cast by the moon threw him into sharp focus, his shadow streaked across the floor like the practiced stroke of an artist. He was staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world, or perhaps the most _uninteresting _thing.

"Hey there, Ita-chan!" He greeted brightly, not at all off put "Didn't expect to find you in the guest room! Considering you're always rooming with _bruder _when you stay here, kesesese...sese..." His laugh faded when Italy looked up. His eyes were open, which in itself was a rare occurrence, but the dull coldness they held was what really made him look a bit scary "You okay, Italy?" He asked hesitantly.

Italy took a slow step forwards, his aura dark enough to rival that of Russia. Prussia shuddered slightly and subconsciously leaned back a fraction of an inch. As Italy took yet another purposeful step, he flicked a small dark object in his hands, causing a blade to shoot out of it. It wasn't overly long, no more than maybe 4 inches or so, but it still sent shivers down Prussia's back as it caught the moonlight on its well-polished surface. The ex-nation took a small step back, and then another, and another as to match Italy's movement, lest the blade-wielding nation get any closer than he already was.

"H-hey now, Italy... If this is about the awesome me coming onto you all that time ago, I said I was sorry!" He tried to smile, but it died on his lips with a slight twitch.

"I never said you were forgiven," Italy's voice was a cold hiss as he raised the blade. Prussia took another step back, crying out as he fell backwards onto the bed "Sometimes sorry just doesn't cut it."

Prussia tried to stutter an answer, but all that came out was a feeble plea before he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, where the blade punctured his pale skin. He felt the blade twist inside him, sending waves of agony through every nerve in his body. He could do nothing but scream as the blade slipped in and out of him over and over until he knew nothing but pain.


	6. Return Not

**I'm not a huge fan of this chapter myself, so I didn't spend as much time editing as I would have liked. As usual, I don't own Hetalia, and if you have any corrections or suggestions, please feel free to voice them! I don't have much more written in advance, so if you have any suggestions for how characters should die, or who you want to go next, my ears are always open.**

_Chapter 5  
Return not_

Germany stepped back into the house to the sound of sobbing coming from upstairs. At the sound, a thousand possibilities raced through his mind. He instantly regretted leaving Italy alone with Prussia, he hadn't seriously considered that his own brother could have been the murderer, or could have possibly hurt the smaller nation. Germany didn't hesitate before hurrying up the stairs and towards the sound of the sobbing, cautiously pushing open the door to his room out of habit to find it empty. He bit his lower lip and approached the guest room, the metallic smell of blood invading his nostrils as he gently cracked open the door. What he saw inside exceeded his worst nightmares.

Italy sat in the far corner, rocking back and forth, absolutely drenched in blood and clutching a small switch blade like a lifeline, while the still form of Prussia rested among the tangled and bloody sheets. Germany let out a strangled gasp that sounded almost like a whimper and took an almost involuntary step into the room towards his crying friend and his injured—dead? brother. Italy glanced up at the sound, his eyes wide open and filled to the brim with tears; seeing the tortured look in his eyes brought to mind the possibility that his brother might not have been the only hurt one in the room. Germany found himself stumbling towards Italy through the bloody room instead of his brother.

"Help...me." Italy choked out through a sob, staring pleadingly at Germany before his head lolled to the side and his eyes drooped shut.

Germany rushed to keep his friend from tumbling over, catching his limp body in his hands "Don't die on me yet, Italia" Germany growled "First Romano and Spain, then China and Japan, and after that Austria and Hungary, I won't lose either of you..."

Italy let out a quiet whimper, keeping his eyes screwed shut "Ve... Don't worry about me, Germany. I won't die." He tried to prop himself up, but only gave other short whimper as his hand slipped in the blood.

"You promise?" Germany asked, his voice cracking slightly and trembling despite his attempts to keep a calm and steady voice.

"Ve... Doistu... I promise." Italy agreed with the slightest smile "You can trust me..." His head rolled to the side again and despite Germany shaking him desperately, he remained unconscious, but alive.

He set his smaller friend down gently and approached the unmoving form of his brother "_Bruder_..." He whispered with an unsteady voice. He checked for signs of life and the faint flutter of his brother's chest brought a wave of relief. A the sound of his brother approaching, Prussia forced his eyes open just enough to look at his baby brother

He coughed slightly, spewing more blood onto the sheets "Hey, West." He choked "Sorry, I kinda messed up."

Germany lifted his brother off the bed and held him close "Who did this to you two?" He asked quietly.

Prussia seemed to ignore the important question, as self-important as ever "You always told me to keep my hands to—" He broke off to cough up more blood "To myself when I was around Italy... I guess this is what I get."

Germany narrowed his eyes "What do you mean, Prussia? What did you do?"

"I just thought—when he was little... Do you know how much he looked like a girl?" He chuckled, resulting in more blood bubbling at his lips "I didn't realize... It was a long time ago—I didn't even think he remembered, but..." He broke off again to cough "I'm sorry, West, forgive me..." It swooped up at the end, but Germany wasn't sure whether it was a cough or a question.

"_Dummkopf_" He scolded his brother "What were you thinking?" He couldn't bring himself to become furious at his brother like he wanted to, not while he was so close to death.

"I don't know, West, I don't know..." He heaved a painful sigh and blood trickled down his chin.

"But either way, you're my _bruder_, Prussia! I promise I'll kill whoever did this... Tell me who and I'll strangle the life from them myself!" He spat the words like they were poison in his mouth.

"If I did then Italy would be breaking his promise to you..." Prussia rasped with an echo of his usual grin dancing over his lips "And... Um, can you do me a favor? Tell Canada I have to cancel for dinner" Then his eyes drooped shut and he went limp.

"_Bruder!_" Germany cried, shaking his brother to avail "_Bruder... _Prussia... Don't die on me..." It was a bit late for that request, but Germany couldn't help the tear-filled pleas that escaped between his lips without end until he too dripped in the ex-nation's blood.

His desperate pleas tugged Italy back into reality, although he kept his eyes closed. In that moment he was truly scared for what would happen next. Germany would come to find that Italy had no wounds, and he would put the pieces together. By the way Germany was pleading with Prussia, Italy could only assume he had lived through the brutal attack, of course there was no way he wasn't dead by this point. If he had lived however, it would have given Prussia the chance to tell Germany the truth. Not the _real_ truth, because Prussia didn't know about the foolish deal and the darkness, but he did know that it was Italy killing them all. Now Germany would tear the life from Italy. It was... over.

He lifted his tired body from the floor without a sound despite the way his tense muscles protested. He stood shakily, but still did his best to stay quiet, lest Germany see he was standing. He moved towards the door with a painful sluggishness and it wasn't until he was in the doorway that Germany looked up. His eyes widened slightly as he registered his smaller friend's attempt to escape the room.

"Italy?" He called gently "Don't go, you're hurt." His voice trembled and broke as more tears spilled down his cheeks "Don't leave, Italy, don't leave." He repeated the plea like a prayer until Italy cut him off.

"So you can kill me?" He croaked bitterly, surprised that his body remained free of the numbness the darkness brought when it kept him from talking. Almost like it was taunting him, telling him it was too late. That it was time to tie up loose ends himself.

"Kill you?" Germany echoed "You don't think that I'm—No! Italy, I'm not the killer... You can't possibly think that I would—"

A burst of laughter escaped from Italy "You? You cast as the killer? Funny, Germany, really funny." He rasped "I know that you know. He must have told you." Still his body remained free of the darkness.

"I don't understand! You refuse to tell me who it is, how would I know?" Germany demanded.

Italy actually opened his eyes in his shock "You really don't know?" Could Germany actually still believe it was France?

"No." Was all Germany offered as a response, his shoulders jerking in a sob.

"Oh." Italy's breath came out in a whoosh, his feelings flitting between relieved and disappointed "Then there's time."

"Time for what, Italy?" Germany asked as Italy backed out of the room "Don't you dare leave! You know who the murderer is! I must know so I can make them pay for hurting my friends." He paused and cast a mournful glance at his still brother "...My family..."

"I'd tell you, but I'm not one to break a promise." The faintest smile danced over Italy's lips, both his words and expression painfully reminiscent of Prussia's last words. He turned and fled without another word, leaving Germany alone with his dead brother and a very bloody room to clean up.

**Poor Germany is totally in denial. **


	7. Mistake Me

**This was my favorite chapter to write so far: it's refreshing to write from a new point of view, if only temporarily. Hetalia doesn't belong to me, and as always feel free to leave corrections and suggestions. The chapters before this one were written a long time ago, but past this point I'll mostly be writing the chapters as I post them, so if you have any ideas I could see about using them. **

_Chapter 6  
__Mistake me_

France was not in a good mood. His world had been turned on its head. Everyone was either dead or lined up to the slaughter, and _Italy _was the butcher? It was unthinkable! To make things worse, when he'd tried to warn _Allemagne _over the phone, the stupid thing had cut out! Now, France had never really been friends with the German, but he wasn't as sadistic as to let him be trapped in his own house with the murderer. He'd feigned death when Italy had passed by, only daring to crack open an eye once he was long gone. The scene had been horrific! Both Hungary and Austria dead—murdered! By _Italie._

France had done the only thing logical at that point: get out call for help and warn the world, but of course his phone just _had _to cut out, and it had taken long enough to get through to Germany in the first place! His mind had worked quickly, but rashly, and he had stumbled out into the night without any goal in mind. He had ended up spending the night in some field in the middle of nowhere. The next morning, he had done the next logical thing his brain had come up with. Go in person to warn the world! Naturally he had gone to _Angleterre's _house first, since he had long since discovered where England hid his keys, and he wasn't about to go to Germany's house, where Italy was probably hanging around. Things hadn't gone wrong right off the bat and he safely made it to England's house without delay. He had opened the door, which was strangely enough unlocked. That in itself made France wonder if he was too late to warn anyone, but voices drifted to his ears. _Amerique _was over?

"Dude, you _cannot_ serious!" America's obnoxious voice was as loud as ever, filled with disbelief "Are we talking about the same France here?"

Ah, so they were talking about him! Even under the circumstances, France couldn't help but feel flattered. But then again, who wouldn't want to talk about him? He was about to call out to announce his presence and his reason behind barging into England's house, but the conversation suddenly caught his interest.

"Yes, America" England was obviously restraining himself from calling the younger nation names "I found a _rose_ at the scene! It must have been him."

France blinked, rooted in place, but leaning forwards as though it would help him catch what they were talking about. They had found the bodies! Thank god, he'd been worried he would have to return to that horrible place to show it to them. This relaxed him slightly, but he kept attentive, and maybe even a bit weary.

"I—Wow, I can't believe it..." America breathed "France, the killer?" A long pause "Wow..."

Wait—what had they just said? They thought France was the killer? They thought _he_ was a _meurtrier? _It was... Understandable. France stood there for a moment longer, unbreathing and unmoving. Then he turned around and fled into the dreary morning. Of course they did! They must have found the rose Italy had tried to kill him with. All covered in blood... Like a calling card. It was almost like he had signed his name in blood, like he had just confessed! _Non..._ They really thought that he was the killer! That meant Italy was off the hook... He might have loved his _petit frère, _but he wasn't one to protect a killer! Italy could kill again, could be killing again _as they spoke._

How is one supposed to react to news like being accused as a killer? Especially when they weren't? Was it that they were supposed to go into hiding to save themselves? Or was some noble confrontation with the killer to save everyone else's necks, perhaps at the cost of his own in order? It all felt surreal to France, especially when just a few moments ago he had been prepared to valiantly announce who the killer was, and get them taken down. He was ready to save lives, and now he was running for his own. The pouring rain had receded to a drizzle as he ran down the empty streets towards his own house. Of course, his own house was a ways away, and he ended up sitting down a bench at about the half way point and burying his head in his hands. Muttering to himself in French,

"_Non, ce n'était pas supposé d'arriver" _His voice sounded much smoother and more natural in his native language, but still it quaked with distress "_Italie.._. _Pourquoi as-tu fais cela?"_

The people around him seemed to ignore him, passing by him with few glances. Some even bumped into him, neglecting to apologize before rushing off to whatever important meeting it was they were already late for. If the world now thought that France was the killer, how could he tell them the truth? They'd have no idea until he too turned up dead and they were all left wondering how they got it wrong. Who knew how many people Italy came into contact with each day, how many people were in danger! Who knew if he was just killing nations? For all France knew he could be killing innocent citizens on the side. Maybe he was behind the outbreak of shootings in Italy? All over the world for that matter. France couldn't even be sure how long he had been killing for! Maybe he had always been a cold-hearted killer, and had only recently worked up the courage to kill his family and friends.

His thoughts were growing bitterer by the moment, so he tried to shake them off with a flick of his hair, but the damp mess atop his head had not been washed since the incident and doing so only made him cringe. Maybe that's why people weren't looking at him; was he covered in blood? He wouldn't want to look at himself either if that was the case.

He was so terribly confused, and now that he was sitting alone with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, the wondering had begun. Why was Italy killing? Surely not for fun! For as long as France had known him, he had been a sweet and innocent nation, a little dense and maybe even cowardly at times, but never cruel, never even condemning. Or, so had France thought. And the more France thought about it, the more his head hurt, so he opted to stop thinking altogether.

His mind apparently, had different plans, because it kept coming up ideas in the weight of the silence. Little ideas that grew into bigger ones, like snowballs rolling down a hill. It would start with _maybe it wasn't Italy_ and would progress into some complex tale of deception and disguise until it no longer made sense. Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon turned to evening until there was no one left to ignore him.

"Care to explain what you were doing in my house?" A bland and familiar voice yanked him from his thoughts with a slight gasp.

"_A—Angleterre!" _He stuttered, lifting his head to meet the accusing green gaze of the English nation "I—Uh..."

"Not _only _did I catch a glance of you as you fled, but you also left the bloody door open!" For a second France felt relieved: he was going to yell at him about letting the cold air in, not for murdering nations! He couldn't actually think France was the murderer...

"Hehe... Apologies, _mon ami_. It won't happen again!" If it had been a normal day, he probably would have started laughing his trademark laugh, but this was no normal day.

"You think I don't know about your identity?" England suddenly snapped after a long moment of silence while France's words hung in the air "You made it pretty obvious with that rose"

The French nation's eyes widened with fear, what was England going to do? He thought France was a killer! "_Non!" _He cried frantically, tears welling in the corners of his eyes "You misunderstand!"

"Like bloody hell I do" France heard a click and he jumped up, reaching out with a hand, trying to make England understand.

"You're wrong! It wasn't me! I swear it!" France pleaded, his words becoming a broken mix of French and English until it made no sense at all, because he knew what was coming. He'd been close enough to death to know it wasn't pleasant.

England lifted the sleek black handgun to France's forehead, unaware of the horrible mistake he was making in shooting down France like an animal. France had no words to remedy the situation, not thinking once to cry out the name of the true murderer. There was too much fear to think at all.

"Screw you" England spat. If only he had known before he pulled the trigger, everything could have turned out okay...

**It wasn't my plan to kill him, I swear! It was a complete accident, but meh. Shit happens.**


	8. Said the Fly to the Spider

**Why must I be so allergic to editing? .-. Feel free to point out any errors! Spelling, grammar, or anything else you feel needs to be addressed! I don't own Hetalia. I only have one more death planned ;~; Anyone got any good ideas?**

_Chapter 7_

_Said the fly to the spider_

Italy was heartbroken to say the least, hunched over in his chair pulled close to the table, the pasta Germany had attempted to make quickly cooling. Not only was he murdering nations, but he was also causing them to kill each other! _And_ they thought it was over. Everyone thought they were safe. France was dead, not at Italy's hand, but at _England's_. It was almost worse than Italy killing the French nation himself, because he had turned a nation into a murderer. France had been completely innocent, but in a sick way, this was good for Italy. France was the only one alive who had known, and now he was dead. Problem solving.

The presence in Italy seemed only too willing to relinquish control for the time being, leading the nations on to think that it was over. It would all serve to break them even more when the murders started again. It had been two weeks since then, and Italy was still just as broken as he had been since the start of the whole thing, and it didn't slip past Germany. The stoic nation had really been putting in an effort to cheer the Italian up despite his own emotional distress, but Italy wasn't having any of it. Things were slowly starting to slip back into a comfortable routine, and the presence didn't even need to remind Italy not to confess, who would believe him by this point anyways?

"Italy?" Germany prompted, sitting across the small table. Had he asked a question?

"Hm?" Italy yawned, lifting his head and feigning exhaustion, or rather using the exhaustion he _did _feel to cover up his guilt. It was always guilt with Italy.

Germany sighed "You weren't listening to me, were you?" His tone wasn't accusing, just tired.

Italy shook his head slowly, in a sad, wistful way, like he wished he _could _listen "I'm sorry, Germany..."

"Do you still think France wasn't the killer?" The question seemed so sudden and off-topic that it brought Italy up short.

It took a long moment for him to reply "I don't know..." He pronounced each word carefully, as if he might mess them up.

"The killings have stopped." It was a definitive fact, but it hung in the air like a question.

The guilt Italy felt in that moment "I—Yeah, they have" He agreed, lowering his head slightly, his chin tilting downwards.

"But you still don't think that he did it, do you?" And that wasn't a question, although it tilted up at the end like it was one.

"No." There was nothing more to say. Italy _knew _that France wasn't the killer.

"You've figured something out, haven't you?" Again with the questions that weren't questions, but to this one Italy had nothing to say. Nothing to make him understand.

Italy hadn't had to figure anything out: he knew that _he_ was the killer. Italy had come to accept that there was nothing he could about it anymore. His hands were bloody, and the stains refused to leave no matter how many times he washed his hands. Not literally of course, if his hands really were covered in blood, someone would have noticed. But Italy could see the stains, as fresh as when he had first spilt blood over them.

"But you won't tell me." Germany seemed to understand that Italy had no plans of divulging anything, not anymore.

There were no words left in Italy's parched mouth, no energy left in his worn body to lift a finger. There hadn't been either left for a long time. Everything was empty. Italy looked up at Germany, eyes open and observing. He reached up a hand and let the backs of his fingers brush against the German's cheek. It was one of the most painful things in world, watching Germany flinch, and the blush that Italy's fingers left on his skin.

"Maybe it was France" Lies, it was always with the lies "There's no way for us to ever know until there's another murder. If there isn't we can assume, but if there is, we'll know we were wrong." Italy already knew they were wrong, it wasn't a matter of whether or not the killings started again, because Italy _knew _they would.

"You sound like you think they will." Germany searched Italy's gaze, but the once lively eyes that were so rarely seen were dull with exhaustion and mourning.

Italy shrugged "They might, they might not," He tried to sound indecisive, but it came out pitiful "At the same time, I hope France was the murderer, and I don't." Italy explained softly. It was the truth- not the full truth, but it was a start.

"I know, Italy." He sighed faintly, a breathy sound that hung in the air for a long moment "I'm sorry"

What did Germany have to apologize for? It was absurd that the German be the one apologizing, when it was Italy who had hurt so many.

"Why?" Italy stared up at his friend, his face blank and lifeless, but tense, as though he was suppressing emotion.

"You've lost as much as anyone and no one deserves it less than you." His words were more scalding than any rebuke.

How was Italy supposed to respond? Was there anything he _could_ respond? He averted his gaze, staring at the wall behind Germany, feeling his eyes prick with unshed tears. He bit his bottom lip to keep them from spilling over. Did Germany know just how much of lie he was telling to himself? Longing welled in his chest, because he wished he could believe Germany's words. But no one deserved to lose everything _more_ than Italy.

"None of us deserved to lose anything." Italy whispered, not voicing his disagreement, but not lying either.

"But the killer is dead now. It was surely France." Germany's eyes were pleading, begging for Italy to agree with him.

"That doesn't bring back the dead." Italy stared at the table, sniffing in a pitiful attempt to keep himself from crying "They'll always be dead."

Germany's face crumpled, probably thinking of everyone he'd lost since it all began "Nothing can bring them back, but we can settle for justice."

"If he _was_ the killer, he deserved _much_ worse than merciful shot to the head" Italy's tone was bitter and downcast "A monster deserves a monster's death" Italy could barely stand the truth of his own words; he deserved a monster's death.

"He got to feel the terror his victims felt." Germany effectively ended the conversation as he swept up the dishes and Italy's uneaten food.

Italy's bottom lip trembled "Maybe he felt that terror everyday" He sniffed softly to himself "Maybe the spider was more afraid of the fly all along"

And just a little bit. He began to understand.

**Hope you enjoyed reading! Though it felt a bit like a filler chapter cx Oh, and before I forget: I realized that I haven't thanked the people you have favorited, followed, and reviewed! Thanks so much guys, you keep a lazy writer motivated :D**


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